


Sucker

by AFamiliarWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood Drinking, Blood and Injury, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29765649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFamiliarWitch/pseuds/AFamiliarWitch
Summary: Draco Malfoy lurks in a Muggle bar, looking for his nightly distraction, never suspecting that Ginny Weasley is about to throw his entire world off-balance.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Kudos: 8





	Sucker

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags. I’m not joking.
> 
> And thanks to magicspacehole for risking her sanity and reading this! Xx

_ Don't complicate it _

_ 'Cause I know you and you know everything about me _

_ I can't remember _

_ All of the nights I don't remember _

_ When you're around me _

_ I've been dancing on top of cars and stumbling out of bars _

_ I follow you through the dark, can't get enough _

_ You're the medicine and the pain, the tattoo inside my brain _

_ And, baby, you know it's obvious _

_ I'm a sucker for you _

_ You say the word and I'll go anywhere blindly _

_ I'm a sucker for you _

_ Any road you take, you know that you'll find me _

_ I'm a sucker for all the subliminal things _

_ No one knows about you _

_ And you're making the typical me break my typical rules _

_ It's true, I'm a sucker for you _

  * ‘Sucker’, Jonas Brothers



Draco moves slowly around the perimeter of the room, sticking to the shadows. He’s changed since his Hogwarts days, and staying out of sight is now such an integral part of his demeanour that he can no longer remember anything else. He knows objectively that there was a time when he could move in the open, in the daylight like anyone else, unafraid and bold, but those times are over. It’s the same reason he frequents Muggle bars now, choosing the culture he once so despised; the promise of anonymity is much stronger than his distaste of the non-magical world.

In his hand is a scotch and soda that he nurses. He doesn’t actually imbibe much at all these days; there’s very little that holds any joy for him anymore. No, the only thing that he has now is  _ this, _ the anticipation of the hunt, the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction when he leaves with some poor ignorant Muggle. He already thinks he’s found his target for tonight; a small blonde woman sips her drink meekly at the edge of her group of boisterous friends. Her timid nature is in his favour; she’ll be flattered when he finally approaches her, pliant and eager to please. The thought makes his blood heat. These Muggles don’t know who he is, don’t know  _ what _ he is, and it’s that feeling of welcome that he always chases first. They don’t cringe away, don’t turn their faces- no, they’re intrigued and smiling, entranced by his pale countenance and his strong jaw and his reassuring smile.

Sometimes it almost feels too easy.

He settles into a chair and begins his routine of watching. Some women are already noticing him, batting their eyelashes at him over the rims of their drinks. He smirks and tips his own drink in their direction - he likes having back-up options, relishes in the positive attention that’s so different from what he gets in the Wizarding World.

The routine goes like this: he stares until she  _ feels _ it, until she searches out the source of that uncomfortable feeling. When their eyes meet, he holds her gaze until she flushes and turns away. Only a few seconds later, her eyes flick back to him and she quickly turns again, already embarrassed about this level of attention. The next two times she looks at him, he’ll make sure he appears to have changed his focus, even though he’s acutely aware of every move she makes. She feels disappointment at the loss, and now she tries to recapture his attention. She goes to the dance floor with her friends, even though she rarely does, because it brings her closer to him. He still hasn’t looked directly at her again, but he can see her in his peripheral, dancing self-consciously and throwing him longing looks.

Then,  _ she _ arrives, and he forgets the blonde girl completely.

The first thing he feels is a bolt of fear. To see someone magical  _ here,  _ where he feels  _ safe,  _ is such a violating feeling that he actually recoils. He hopes through sheer force of will that she won’t notice him at all and he’ll have a chance to flee; of course, this means that her gaze falls on him almost immediately.

They both freeze, staring at each other across the dim pub. It would feel like something out of a cheesy romance if the prevailing emotion was anything other than terror. He feels scant comfort that she looks exactly as confused and concerned as he feels; at least he knows that she didn’t come here  _ looking _ for him. As the moment stretches on, he realises that neither of them know what to do now, and the thought relaxes him slightly. She’s at a disadvantage here, and he sees that she’s also alone. The best thing would be for them both to ignore each other.

Except that then she does something odd, something he never could have expected. She gets her drink, tips it ever so slightly at him, and her lips turn up subtly before she takes a sip.

Now his fear is gone, replaced by something else: curiosity. He relaxes again and starts to observe her unashamedly, and wonders why Ginny Weasley is at a Muggle bar by herself. He tries to remember if he’s heard anything about her lately. He vaguely recalls that she’d been recruited right from Hogwarts to play Quidditch professionally; the old Draco would have been jealous and hated her for that alone. Her career was nothing special, but her proximity to the Boy Who Lived meant that she was often featured, culminating in a front page spread heralding their breakup and her sudden retirement from Quidditch a few months ago. People had theorised that she was pregnant, or had a mental breakdown, or was so heartbroken that she couldn’t stand to be in public anymore.

Clearly all of that is nothing but conjecture, because here she is, smiling and slender with her red hair vibrant and loose, wearing an almost indecent black dress that hugs her every curve and contrasts her skin so that it looks so pale it’s nearly luminescent. His stomach burns suddenly, and he imagines what it would be like to peel away that dress and expose her white skin and taste every inch of her. The image is so clear and vivid in his mind that he’s already half-hard and when she smiles at him again he wonders if she can feel the lust burning in his eyes.

He can’t imagine that idiot Potter having gotten rid of  _ her, _ not when she looks like this, and the idea of pulling back her hair until she nearly chokes and burying his cock in her while Potter sits at home and wishes she was there is so satisfying that he can’t stop the feral look that crosses his face. He makes his decision, then. He  _ will _ have Ginny Weasley that night, whatever it takes. He’ll get her to his flat and tie her to his bed and watch the tears roll down her face while he  _ hurts _ her, safe in the knowledge that Harry fucking Potter won’t be waiting for her. Nobody will be waiting for her.

The game is different with her; she’s confident and doesn’t look away from his eyes, so he doesn’t ignore her. Her smile doesn’t fade, and he recalls the angry, fiery girl from school, the one who hexed him on the train and screamed at him whenever he crossed a line and wonders how she’s become this entrancing creature. She disappears into the throng on the dance floor and for a while he catches only glimpses of her, strobe lights reflecting off her hair and the exposed skin of her back, but he’s patient. It’s only when he watches her rebuff the first, second, and then a third potential suitor that he decides he doesn’t want to wait anymore, and abandons his glass to make his way through the crowd.

The scent of peoples’ sweat and hormones is heavy and intoxicating. He finds her quickly, but he’s been so attuned to her presence from the moment she’d entered the bar that he’s not surprised. Even with those ridiculous heels on, she comes only to his nose, and as he slides his hands around her waist he catches the scent of her hair, a cold freshness that manages to clear his head and make him feel drunk at the same time.

She doesn’t seem alarmed, but rather turns in his arms and smiles up at him. She pushes up against his chest, her breasts firm against him and her breath hot on his cheek as she speaks directly into his ear in order to be heard over the music. “I was wondering when you’d come save me,” she laughs as she twines her fingers into the nape of his neck. Her nails are long and they scrape delicately against his skin and he shudders.

“You seemed quite capable of handling yourself,” he answers lightly, knowing the compliment will land well, and she rewards him with a broad smile. From there, they don’t speak much. Instead, he enjoys the feel of her body against his, soft curves concealing hard muscles borne from years of Quidditch. He can’t see in the dim light but he imagines there’s still a dusting of freckles across her nose and collarbone, and wonders how good it will feel to run his fingers across them before he digs in and bruises that pale flesh. She undulates against him, letting him explore her with his hands, and if she can feel his erection growing she clearly doesn’t mind.

The evening stretches on, and neither of them are willing to break the spell they’ve cast on each other. They keep dancing together, continuing their foreplay, touching each other in ways that leave them both panting and pressing forward for more. Draco is completely lost in her, drunk on the scent of her as she tortures him with her body. He’s beginning to wonder if perhaps he drank too much scotch after all when she suddenly stops and grabs his hand and drags him down the hallway that leads to the loo.

He sees her desperation and arousal and isn’t surprised when she yanks him towards her so that he’s crowding her against the wall. Their lips crash together and it feels like pain and relief all at once, and he knows it won’t be enough. His fingers find the hem of her dress and he begins to edge it upwards as she swipes her tongue over his and moans breathily into his mouth. His cock twitches hard when he realises she isn’t wearing anything underneath and she’s already dripping wet. He yanks that gorgeous hair so that her head tips back and he watches her eyes roll back in ecstasy as he slides his fingers inside her.

She’s nearly incoherent, jerking her hips wantonly against his hand as he tightens his grip on her hair and watches her throat work as she whimpers for him. He can’t help himself, he bends to her neck and begins nibbling and sucking at her pulse points, feeling her heartbeat quicken and her walls clenching around his fingers as he works her closer and closer to orgasm. Her nails are digging into his shoulders, now it’s all she can do to hang on and let him pleasure her in a dark hallway of a bar. He gloats inwardly at how easy this has been, how quickly she’s let him have her. Rocking her hips over his hand she keens loudly into his ear and he pulls his lips from her throat to swallow her noises as she collapses from the force of her completion.

He holds her up, letting her catch her breath in little gasps before he says, “Come home with me,” and it’s not a question, so she nods. He wastes no time and turns on the spot, Apparating from right there with his nose still buried in her hair and his fingers trailing wet stripes down her inner thigh.

They land firmly on his doorstep, and the cold night air invigorates them both. Ginny seems suddenly uncertain, disentangling herself from him and nervously brushing her hair behind her ears. She’ll come in, one way or another, but he does prefer his women eager and willing at this stage, so he opens the door and smiles in a way that he hopes is reassuring. “Come in, please,” he says, and is relieved when she nods and follows him inside.

The flat is minimalistic: white walls and furniture and surfaces - not because he prefers that style but just because it’s easier to take care of - and he only comes here when he’s had a successful evening at a bar. Ginny looks around, straightening her dress and taking it in. “It’s nice,” she says with an insincere tone, and he smiles.

“Would you care for a drink?” he asks, ever a victim of his breeding, but she thankfully declines. She turns to him again, apparently done surveying the flat, her brown eyes nearly black with a hungry lust.

“Where’s your bed?” she asks, unashamed. He likes that, and thinks that perhaps in the future he’ll pursue more bold women instead of the meek wallflowers he usually turns his eye to. More of a challenge, perhaps, but the rewards certainly seem worth it. He takes her hand and leads her, already planning which way to take her first.

The bed is large, dominating the room with intimidating wooden posts that nearly touch the ceiling. It’s the only thing he  _ really _ spent money on for this place. She drops his hand to run her fingers over the luxurious bedspread and around the frame and posts, meandering to the other side of the room before turning back to face him. He waits, letting her take the lead for now. She runs her fingers up her sides slowly, smiling slightly at him and making sure that he’s watching as she lifts the halter over her head before letting the dress slide to the floor.

Her skin is alabaster perfection, just like he imagined, her breasts small and tipped with delicate dusky nipples that harden under his gaze. Slowly, deliberately, she climbs onto the bed and crawls toward him, chewing her lip alluringly. She beckons him closer until his thighs press against the mattress and he has a glorious view of the slope of her back and the curve of her arse as she unbuckles his trousers and pulls everything down, revealing the hard length of him. His cock has been weeping precum probably since they danced, and she swirls her tongue around his tip before gently nibbling her teeth over him.

The sensation makes him groan and buck, grabbing her hair so that she doesn’t move as he shoves his cock to the back of her throat. She doesn’t fight it though, and takes every inch of him, eyes watering as she watches him through her lashes. He grits his teeth and thrusts again, grunting praise for her as her throat contracts around him. It feels like perfection, and as his eyes roll back in his head he contemplates just keeping her here forever and fucking her mouth every day just like this. He feels his balls tightening as she swirls her tongue around him and he yanks her hair back until she releases his cock with a soft  _ pop _ .

“Lie down on your back,” he orders her roughly, and she complies while he sheds his shirt. He leans over her, bracing himself on the bed, and takes her breast into his mouth. She runs her fingers up his biceps, now digging her fingernails into his skin. He flinches imperceptibly and bites into the flesh around her nipple; she gives a scream of desire and arches her back, digging in her nails until he feels his skin break. He grunts and bites her again, then one hand finds the folds between her legs and he shoves his fingers roughly inside her. She thrashes, but doesn’t push him away, and he winds his free hand through that silky hair again just so that he can pull on it until she gasps for air.

She contorts under him, reaching between his legs and grasping his cock so hard that he sees stars and he pumps his fingers aggressively inside her. She feels divine, silky wet heat between her legs and the way she writhes and moans underneath him, like she loves the pain as much as he loves hurting her. Her pupils are blown wide and fixed on him as she drags her nails across his balls and he flicks her clit aggressively, half growling at her.

It seems to awaken something in her, and she surges upward. He lets her get the upper hand and she pushes him down into the bed and mounts him like a queen, sliding down onto his cock and taking him with a guttural cry that shudders right through him. She rolls her hips and he sees stars, and when she bends down to him he kisses her greedily. He’s not sure what’s happening now; he feels intoxicated, drunk on the feeling of her sliding against him, her velvety cunt hugging his cock and her tongue sliding past his lips and the sting of her teeth as she bites into him. Now her mouth is on his neck, panting, nibbling him again, and he’s delirious with pleasure and pain, holding her hips and thrusting upwards as they both chase their release.

When she comes it’s like a storm, a raging inferno that pulls him in and forces him to cry out as he spills deep inside of her. He feels weak, woozy, as if she’s drained his life out through his cock. She sits up and he tries to focus on her through hooded eyes, sees the dark stain of her mouth as she smiles wickedly at him.

It’s wrong, he knows something is wrong, but he can’t seem to move, can’t seem to focus as she leans closer again. “You taste delicious,” she whispers, and he sees now that it’s blood staining her mouth and her teeth, and he moans weakly and tries to roll away from her.

She won’t let him go, suddenly strong as stone as she pins him to the bed. He feels the panic in his chest beginning to rise, tries to buck her off, but she just laughs and holds him firm. Her eyes aren’t brown at all he sees now, they’re a deep red, so dark they’re almost black, and her teeth are sharp points glistening with an aphrodisiac poison.

She leans down again, and he tries to scream, but the sound in his throat dies as she pierces his skin and begins to drink.

The pain fades to pleasure and his vision begins to dim as the thing that used to be Ginny Weasley continues to take what she wants from him.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time publishing any of my smut so I’d love to read your reactions/feedback/suggestions, whatever! Thank you so much :)


End file.
